


Token

by epitome



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cullen's Lucky Coin, Established Relationship, F/M, Trespasser, Trespasser DLC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-12-13 22:28:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11769690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epitome/pseuds/epitome
Summary: Prompt: I need Branson Rutherford’s reaction to see around the Inquisitor’s neck the coin he give to Cullen when he left for Templar training.Misunderstandings: Branson is considerably less than pleased when he finds the coin - the coin he gave his brother, a Templar - around the neck of an apostate. In the middle of the Mage-Templar War, no less.Reunions: It's technically not the first time he's seen it there, but this time it has an altogether different meaning. And this time, his brother is with her. With them. This time, he's pleased more than words can say.





	1. Misunderstandings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Valecitawrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valecitawrites/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Ameliah, and her awesome prompt: "I need Branson Rutherford’s reaction to see around the Inquisitor’s neck the coin he give to Cullen when he left for Templar training." Check out her own fill of it here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11707941
> 
> I have played a little with the canon timeline here. News of Cullen's continued survival doesn't reach the Rutherfords until some time after Cullen has given his lucky coin to the Inquisitor.
> 
> Also, I'm not sure of the exact mechanics of Fade Step. I believe there is an option where it lets you pass through enemies. In this fic, it also lets you pass through walls (probably a mechanic the game avoided to prevent bugs and unauthorized access to certain areas).
> 
> I have left the Inquisitor nondescript - feel free to imagine your own!

It's Rosalie who finds her first, hobbling towards the house and leaning her weight on a long wooden staff for balance and support. The thin armor she wears is ragged, torn and muddied by whatever hardships she must have faced. The stranger comes from the direction of the Brecilian Forest, and while there are no more talks of Werewolves, there are other creatures that are just as deadly, beast and human alike with the Mage-Templar War still in full swing.

Rosalie runs to her aid with more compassion than suspicion, siblings following in her wake. With a soft, hoarse cry for help, the woman collapses where she stands a few paces away from them. Tear tracks cut through the grime on the woman’s face as Rosalie carefully rolls her to her back, cushioning her head on the balled-up shawl she pulled from her own shoulders, heedless of Mia’s warning to stay back. 

Branson's the one who suggests calling the Templars - the ones in South Reach haven't all left, and the walking stick the strange woman had been using looks suspiciously like a mage's staff. Apostates are trouble nowadays, and as much as he hates the Order from stealing their brother from them, the Templars are more well-equipped to handle mages than three Fereldan farmers.

But Rosalie is firm in that the woman couldn't have meant them harm, and they don't know if she really is a mage, and she might not recover if they don't take care of her in the meantime. So Mia - peacekeeper as always - hesitantly instructs Bran to settle her in a cot in the guest room. He'll ride into town for the Templars in the morning, after they've had a chance to patch her up a little. She's lighter than she looks when Bran scoops her up, Mia following with the staff as she shoos Rosalie off to gather their stores of Elfroot, Spindleweed, and Dawn Lotus. 

"Will she be alright?" Rosalie questions once they've done all they can for the time being.

Mia huffs a sigh. "You saw the bruises along her ribs, and we had to splint her arm. She’s practically skin and bones - with the way she passed out, she's been through something serious. I think she'll live, but only time will tell us now. She's a fighter to have made it this far." Mia’s words are meant in more than one way. She'd been half-awake again once they'd brought her inside, and while they'd convinced her to change out of her armor into a clean shirt and pants, and urged her out of her socks and boots, she'd refused to part with her gloves, even when the sisters were trying to clean her with a wet cloth. That had made the splint awkward at best, too, but for all of Mia's stubbornness, she'd let that slide. At Bran's insistence, really - fighting her too hard could have her casting spells, even if Mia thought the stranger was too weak to even try to attack. 

Bran keeps watch that night, sitting in the corner of the guet room in the dark, arms crossed defiantly across his chest. He watches the moonlight settle over her face as the first moon, then the second, both rise to their zeniths.

She shifts and groans in the wee hours of the morning, dawn not yet peeking over the horizon. Bran’s drowsy, sitting alone in the dark for so long, but perks up at the noise. The weary woman shifts, managing to sit up despite a hitch in her breath from whatever pain she is doubtlessly in. Bran's eyes are locked on her like a hawk, but, knowing Mia would kill him if he doesn't get their charge to settle, he stands and approaches her bedside.

"Don't, you'll open your wounds again," he says, words coming out softer than he intends them to. She doesn't argue or resist, immediately collapsing back against the sheets with a thump. "Where... Where am I?" she croaks. Bran doesn't answer, but he pours her a cup of water from the pitcher on the nightstand and steps closer to hand it to her. She accepts it gratefully but with shaky hands, and drinks quickly, head pitching back to savor the last drops. He almost smiles at her eagerness, only to freeze as something around her neck glints in the moonlight from where it peeks out from the collar of the oversized shirt Mia had put her in.

A coin. But it's no ordinary bit of silver exchanged for goods and services in town. Though worn, an image of Andraste's face is pressed into the face of the coin. It's one of a kind. He'd found it one morning, long ago, when he'd been playing on the statue in the center of Honnleath. A treasure. His lucky coin.

A token he'd pressed into his brother's hand for luck when Cullen left for Templar training.

Branson knows his brother is most likely dead. His letters became more distant, came less often after he moved to Kirkwall - void, at first they'd thought the Blight had taken him as it had taken their parents. But then the Chantry in Kirkwall exploded, taking hundreds with it. It took a year for them to find out he’d survived that too. The last they’d heard of their brother, he was going to attend the Conclave - and that blew up too. Figuratively and literally.

Not to mention that the Templars had gone to war with the Mages. Were still at war with them. With the apostates. And here was a battle-weary apostate, with his brother's coin around her neck.

Branson feels the air grow warm around him. Or maybe it’s just his skin flushing, but not with embarrassment. His hands curl into fists.

"Where did you get that?" He bites out. Her hand flies to the coin, pressing it against her chest.

The apostate must still be a little out of it, because her voice is sleepy and lilting when she replies. "Stole it from a Templar." She sounds entirely too pleased with herself. "Along with something else." She pauses to tilt her head, hair mussing where it's fanned out against the pillow. "Hm...You look like him."

Branson sees red, then. His brother had told him he'd keep the coin with him, no matter what. That, plus the ongoing hostilities between the mages and Templars, puts only one possibility in his mind: that that "something else" was his brother's life.

She must see the threat in his gaze because before he can grab her, she rolls to her feet - hissing as she jostles her wounds - and stands on the other side of the bed. In the space of a blink, she’s disappeared, not bothering with shoes, abandoning her staff. He feels the cold rush of magic in the air and sprints for the backyard. By the time he throws the back door open and is down the three steps from the porch, she's long gone. The cool night air is quiet and still around him.

When Mia and Rosalie find him, minutes later, he's already taken an axe to the staff she left inside.

Staring down at the splintered wood doesn't make him feel any better.

Mia pries the axe from his clenched fists, wraps her arms around his heaving chest, and does her best to soothe him, but that doesn't work either. It won't bring his brother back. Nothing can.

* * *

Hours later, the woman reaches a small Inquisition camp. It’s only a few hours past dawn, so they’re unbothered by refugees seeking aid or protection. The woman pulls off her left glove to identify herself and is immediately saluted and ushered to the healers’ tent to rest and recover. Within minutes, a raven departs the camp, headed east, a coded message tied to its leg.

 _Commander,_  

_We’ve found the Inquisitor - well, she found us, really, at our camp near South Reach._

_She’s worn and weary, but well._

_Her escort to Skyhold will depart tomorrow._

_Corporal Beckett_

* * *

Two months after they found the stranger, they receive the letter, a thick Inquisition seal holding it shut. 

_Mia, Branson, Rosalie,_

_It’s been too long since I last wrote..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I'd love to hear what you think.
> 
> Chapter 2, Reunions, is in work. It's set post-Trespasser.


	2. Reunions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: I need Branson Rutherford’s reaction to see around the Inquisitor’s neck the coin he give to Cullen when he left for Templar training.
> 
> Misunderstandings: Branson is considerably less than pleased when he finds the coin - the coin he gave his brother, a Templar - around the neck of an apostate. In the middle of the Mage-Templar War, no less.
> 
> Reunions: It's technically not the first time he's seen it there, but this time it has an altogether different meaning. And this time, his brother is with her. With them. This time, he's pleased more than words can say.

Six months after the official disbandment of the Inquisition, they finally set out for South Reach. It had taken some time to find new posts for their soldiers, scouts, and staff, to make sure that those who had served the Inquisition would be taken care of no matter where they ended up. The castle is quiet now, no longer filled with the clash of swords of training soldiers or the idle chatter of visiting dignitaries. But Skyhold is not completely abandoned: it remains open as a new pilgrimage site to commemorate the good deeds of the Inquisition - including how it had willingly laid down its arms once it was no longer needed, just as its predecessor had done so many ages before.

Cullen brings his horse to a stop as they reach the overlook where they had first caught sight of the ancient fortress that had become their home. His wife - it still makes his heart swell, when he remembers she’s his _wife_ now - slows her own mount beside his, Scout panting and lolling his tongue as he stands at their feet, mindful of the horses.

He takes in each part of the keep, gaze finally settling on his tower, quietly reflecting upon where he’d spent many a late night over the past three and a half years. Though he’d found fulfillment in his position as Commander of the Inquisition’s military forces, it’s a relief to finally relinquish the burden of command. For the first time in a long while, he is only Cullen, something he hasn’t been since he went off to Templar training at thirteen. He is excited to explore the simplicity of being a man with his wife and his hound. He knows it is all he needs.

“We really made a home here, didn’t we.” It’s not a question. Her tone startles him - it’s loving, but bittersweet. A tendril of doubt creeps into his heart at her words, even though they’d already talked about their departure in detail.

“Did you...want to stay after all?” He tears his eyes from the battlements where they’d shared their first kiss, trying to decipher her expression as she continues to stare pensively at the castle.

She perks up at the worry in his voice, and meets his gaze. She smiles indulgently, shaking her head slightly.

“Don’t be silly, Cullen. Home is wherever you are.”

He returns her smile with a warmer one, but the intimate moment is quickly interrupted by a pitiful whine. Scout stares up at her with wide, shining eyes.

For a moment she is silent before she bursts out into laughter. It’s a wonderful sound, one he hasn’t heard enough in these past few months as she’s adjusted to the loss of her arm. Cullen lets out a chuckle of his own.

“Wherever you are too, Scout,” she acknowledges. Scout wiggles his bottom and barks, clearly pleased.

The moment having passed, the trio resumes their journey. They do not look back.

They move slowly through the mountain passes, not in any particular rush and mindful of the muddy terrain and the pace that Scout can comfortably keep. Spring is finally coming to the Frostbacks - it’s fitting for the end of the Inquisition to start a new beginning, Cullen muses.

They spend half a day at the Haven Memorial, walking once-familiar paths and paying their respects to the fallen. Cullen squeezes her hand tight, remembering the _almost_ -fallen and all that they had built here. All that they had sacrificed. Though difficult, it had all been worth it, to get to where they were today.

As they reach the hills at the foot of the mountains, it grows warmer. Cullen carefully packs his iconic coat away, reminding Scout that even though he is no longer the Commander, Scout still reports to him. When Scout barks in approval, his wife again fails to stifle her laughter. Cullen grins brightly back at her.

They pick their way along the road to South Reach, opting to stay at inns and roadhouses for the remainder of their trip. Cullen knows that she’s not overly fond of all the attention she receives, even with the Breach two years closed, but she does not balk from it, and it means better meals and the chance to hold her close in a soft bed instead of a sturdy bedroll. He also knows that she fights mounting feelings of frustration when they camp, as she now needs assistance to complete tasks she had once considered trivial and effortless, like pitching a tent or mounting her horse. She’d been proud of these skills she’d gained shortly after leaving the Circle, and to have to relearn them with one arm - or abandon them altogether… Cullen wonders if it is not unlike when his lyrium headaches incapacitated him, keeping him from completing the simplest tasks.

So they stay at inns, and share meals and baths and beds. A sort-of honeymoon they hadn’t had the time to share before.

The morning of the day they are to arrive at South Reach, Cullen returns to their room after making sure their horses are saddled and ready to depart. She’s seated in front of the mirror, fussing with her hair - always the last thing she does before they set back out on the road. Scout is curled up at the end of the bed, drowsily awaiting to depart on the day’s journey.

He catches the slight furrow between her eyebrows in her reflection and crosses the room to her in three long strides. Cullen rests his palms on her shoulders as he leans down to press a kiss to her wet hair.

“Let me,” he urges quietly, holding out his palm. She surrenders the comb.

He gently pulls it through her hair, untangling any stray knots, then gathers the tresses into three sections. Careful not to tug too hard, he pulls her hair into a simple braid. Practiced fingers make quick work, and soon he’s finishing off the end with a leather tie fished from where it was left on the dressing table last night.

“There,” he says, giving a playful tug to the braid as he watches her face in the mirror. Her expression is more contented, but still a bit worried. She thanks him and they collect their saddlebags.

He’s grateful he asked Josephine to instruct him on simple braids, as embarrassed as he’d been when he’d asked the Ambassador.

_“She used to braid her hair all the time. She told me it was something she enjoyed. And now… well, she can’t, not on her own. I was hoping it’d help her feel more like herself again.”_

_He must have said something right, for the Antivan went off on how romantic it was as she called for a runner to bring her three lengths of rope, Cullen unsuccessfully fighting a blush the whole time. An hour later, he could make a halfway decent braid. Her eyes had brightened when he’d convinced her to let him try his new skill on her the following morning, and she hadn’t hidden away in her quarters that day._

_It was a tradition Cullen would continue as long as she would allow him._

They ride for most of the morning, stopping here and there to water themselves and their horses. By midafternoon, two miles out from Mia’s home, Cullen notices that she starts to draw in on herself as she does whenever she’s anxious or unsure.

“They’re going to love you,” he soothes, but the sideways tilt of her mouth shows she’s not sure if she believes him.

“But what if-”

“Love. Mia’s asked about you in every letter, and in one of them she was so smug I know she knows that you were the one who convinced me to write them. And that’s not counting everything you did for Thedas as Inquisitor. They can’t wait to meet you. They’ll love you, I promise.”

She worries her bottom lip between her teeth, but nods, looking a little surer now.

“It’s just nerves,” she admits.

“I know. Me too.” They will be happy to see him, but he won’t fool himself into believing that his long disappearance will be forgiven and forgotten in a day.

They ride in companionable silence for awhile, a house that must be Mia’s finally coming into view as they crest a small hill.

When they’re a hundred yards out, a woman bursts from the house and runs toward them, a man in her wake. Another woman follows more slowly, a child at her side. Cullen slides from his saddle, watches his wife do the same - she’s gotten much better about it, but it’s still more of a controlled fall than a true dismount. She watches his family approach, some sort of deja vu tickling at the back of her mind. She’s easily able to ignore it, stomach fluttering as the big moment arrives.

“Cullen!” The first woman cries out happily, pulling Cullen into a hug, the strength in her willowy arms surprising him. His younger sister squeezes him tight, not letting go until he’s wrapped his arms around her to return her hug. Then she draws back, smiling at his companions.

“And you must be the Inquisitor!” The blonde young woman embraces her, now. Cullen watches as his wife smiles nervously, hugging his sister with her good arm, unsure what to do with the other. Cullen is thankful that his sister doesn’t seem uncomfortable about it, peppering his wife with other inane questions so quickly that she doesn’t have a moment to answer any of them.

“This is Rosalie,” Cullen’s tone is dry and deadpan, but still amused at his sister’s affections as he makes introductions.

“How did our shy brother manage to woo you? Last I saw him, he couldn’t even talk to one of the village girls without stammering and blushing bright red! Once he even ran away!”

Cullen groans, already thinking back to the sanctuary of the lake he used to visit. He might need to find a similar spot here sooner rather than later.

“He can be quite charming when he wishes to be,” comes the response. A flush rises on her cheeks as she changes the subject to introduce Rosalie to Scout, but Cullen is already distracted by the next arrival.

Branson had slowed to a walk from his jog, giving Rosalie a few moments of private interaction with their brother and his wife. Now it’s Branson’s turn. Cullen straightens, a little stiff as he watches his brother size him up. His younger brother is taller than him now, but the Rutherford curls and warm brown eyes are the same.

“Branson,” Cullen greets, unsure of what else to say. Branson’s eyebrows furrow, and for a moment Cullen is sure that Branson is going to get angry with him - until his brother embraces him tightly, clapping him on the back. Cullen swallows against the growing lump in his throat, echoing the gesture. The men step back from each other, and Branson huffs out a laugh, eyes glassy. Cullen crosses his arms, no pommel at his hip to grip to keep him from fidgeting.

His wife, Scout, and Rosalie have quieted, watching the brothers interact, waiting for what will be said next.

“When did you get so short?” Branson asks, and the tension in the air is gone. Cullen bristles again, good-naturedly.

“I am not short!”

“And your hair!” Branson continues - he’s a good few inches taller than Cullen, so he’s got a perfect view of it as he ruffles it, the motion punctuated by another laugh. “Are you Orlesian now?” The women start to giggle at that, knowing how much Cullen will protest that _he is a proud Fereldan, thank you very much, and his hair is just like that now._ Scout barks in protest to the suggestion.

When the laughter fades, Cullen waits for a moment, looking like he’s trying to find the right words. Finally he clears his throat.

“Listen, Bran. I told you I’d keep your coin safe, and return it to you one day, but -”

Branson interrupts him before he can finish the thought.

“I know. You lost it. It - well, we thought you’d... you'd died, but then we got your letter…” He shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. What’s important is that you’re back.”

Cullen’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “What? But…” His sentence trails off, and he levels a questioning look at his wife where she stands off to the side.

The sense of familiarity in the former Inquisitor’s mind finally snaps into place. The long walk from the forest’s edge, cradling a broken arm, stumbling upon a farmhouse. People running toward her. Soothing words in her ear, the familiar scent of elfroot salve. A young man with a head full of curls asking about the coin around her neck.

She fishes the necklace out from under her shirt. The coin strung from it gleams in the sunlight, prouder than any wedding band. She moves to stand at Cullen’s left side.

Branson just gapes.

“What - you?! No - but you said-”

Cullen looks more confused than before, gaze flickering back and forth between his brother and his wife. Her hand snakes into his, and she gives a little squeeze. _I’ll tell you later._

“I, ah, stole it from a Templar?” Her grin is bashful, but amused. “Along with his heart.” She pauses. "And, um, his hand in marriage, too."

Cullen's free hand flies up to the back of his neck at that. "Ex-Templar," he mutters, the response instinctual. She pulses her grip in acknowledgement.

Branson tries to reply, but no words come. He stutters another laugh, relieved, and sweeps the both of them into another tight embrace.

“I can’t believe it… All this time,” he murmurs, clearly overwhelmed.

When Branson has recovered, he moves to ask them his own questions, but Mia arrives to rescue them, Branson’s son accompanying her. She actually greets his wife first - quite warmly, in fact, a little more familiar than his other siblings thanks to the letters. Cullen’s nephew has a moment to greet him with an “‘Ello, Cul,” before Mia is pulling Cullen aside - practically by the ear - to give him a stern talking-to for worrying them for so long.

Cullen accepts her rant without trying to defend himself. When she finishes, out of breath and leveling him with an intense stare, he speaks.

“Hello, Mia,” he greets, and she is all hugs and happy tears. He wraps his arms around her in turn and watches the rest of his family interact over her shoulder, Branson crouching low to encourage his son to introduce himself to his new aunt and to Scout, Rosalie smiling and chattering away.

No, his long absence will not be forgotten in a day. But this reunion is a start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this story!
> 
> The events surrounding the Inquisitor's disappearance weren't the right fit for the story I wanted to tell here, and got quite a bit longer than I had expected - so I'll be sharing them as a different work, if you're curious.


End file.
